Ruthless - Jaskirat x Uzair
The post-kidnapped and the more-damned
DISCLAIMER:
This book Is based on pure Russian Mafia theme. It contains derogatory language, mentions of violence, explicit M/M content, D/s dynamic, and a protagonist of questionable morality. Assumption of Stockholm syndrome. Hurt/comfort, angst and ruthless behavior have been observed. It's a captor/captive story. Since it's set up in Russia, there have been many instances where Russian language is used. For the readers' convenience they are rightfully translated into English for better understanding.
CHAPTER - 1 CHAPTER - 2 CHAPTER - 3 CHAPTER - 4 CHAPTER - 5 CHAPTER - 6 CHAPTER - 7 CHAPTER - 8 CHAPTER - 9 CHAPTER - 10 CHAPTER - 11 CHAPTER - 12 CHAPTER - 13 CHAPTER - 14
PART - II
CHAPTER - 15
Yalina wasn’t amused. Granted, she wasn’t easily amused, but the way her boss had been behaving for the past two months made her decidedly unamused. For the past two months? Perhaps it would be more correct to say the past half a year, ever since Jaskirat kidnapped Baloch’s son and made him his pet—at least that was how Vlad had reported it to her while she was busy sealing a multi-million deal on Jaskirat’s behalf in France. At the time, Yalina had been sceptical and didn’t take Vlad’s words seriously: Jaskirat had never shown any interest in men, so she was convinced it was part of some elaborate scheme to make Faiz Baloch pay. By the time she had returned from France, Yalina found the boy already gone, Vlad given the boot, and Jaskirat restless in a way she’d never seen before.
There had been a certain tension about Jaskirat, something tightly coiled around his shoulders in the following weeks. The most obvious reason she could think of at the time was that Jaskirat had stopped sleeping around, and for Jaskirat, it was nearly unheard of. Even Baloch’s death hadn’t seemed to appease him. If anything, Jaskirat looked more on edge after that.
Yalina started suspecting the real reason for Jaskirat’s strange mood when he had asked her to find out everything about Shubhman Gill. With Baloch dead, there could have been only one reason for Jaskirat’s interest: the beautiful young man in Shubhman’s half-embrace. She could almost see the appeal: the boy had very fine facial features and a mouth to die for. Except Yalina would have never thought that was Jaskirat’s type—or anything with a cock, for that matter. But even then, she hadn’t suspected the extent to which Uzair Baloch affected her normally unflappable, cool-headed boss.
Jaskirat’s impulsive, unscheduled trip to London had been the first clue. When he disappeared into the night after dismissing his bodyguards, Yalina hadn’t been amused in the least—with Vlad fired, security had been added to the long list of her responsibilities, and Yalina didn’t appreciate it when Jaskirat didn’t let her do her fucking job. Thankfully, Jaskirat had returned to his hotel room a few hours later, safe and sound. But when she let herself into Jaskirat’s room to let him know how displeased she was, she found him on the floor, gripping a bottle of vodka in his hand and staring at it hungrily.
The sight gave her pause. Jaskirat didn’t drink. Not anymore.
It was common knowledge that Jaskirat’s father had died from overdosing when Jaskirat was seventeen, but few people knew he had actually been poisoned with drugs. Arjun Singh Rangi had been a harsh, unsympathetic businessman but an excellent husband and father. He and Jaskirat had been very close, and Arjun’s death had hit Jaskirat hard. Yalina knew Jaskirat had killed the man responsible for his father’s death himself. It went only downhill from there. Jaskirat had started drinking. It went on for months until eventually he was hospitalized with severe alcohol poisoning. When Yalina arrived at the hospital, she found Jaskirat’s mother clinging to him, crying and begging him not to do it to her and to the girls.
Who’s going to protect us if you’re gone, too, Jassi? she had said at last when her son had remained deaf to her pleas.
To Yalina’s knowledge, Jaskirat had never touched alcohol again. But he did keep it at hand. When Yalina had asked him a few years ago why he kept alcohol if he never drank it, Jaskirat told her he liked to test himself.
That was why when Yalina had seen Jaskirat staring at the bottle of vodka with a scary sort of intensity, his jaw clenched tight, an alarm rang in her mind. When a few days later he cancelled his flight to Italy and dismissed his bodyguards once again, Yalina was more than a little annoyed. However, when Jaskirat called her the next day, she noticed the change in him immediately: he sounded more relaxed, the tight snappishness in his voice gone. When he informed her of his whereabouts so she could send his bodyguards, she almost wasn’t surprised to learn that he was at Uzair Baloch’s penthouse. Almost.
But even then she hadn’t known how much everything would change.
In the following weeks, Jaskirat had made her reorganize his schedule, delegating most of his responsibilities and leaving London only for the most important business meetings. As soon as the meeting was over, Jaskirat would be on his plane, flying back to London. He was also spending a good chunk of his valuable time helping Uzair Baloch sort out the mess his father had left.
Yalina watched all of that with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. In all the years she had known Jaskirat, she had never seen him so…fixated on anyone. She called it fixation for lack of a better word. Granted, she hadn’t seen Jaskirat interact with Uzair Baloch, but since Jaskirat didn’t allow anyone to get close to him, preferring to keep even his family at arm’s length for their own safety, she concluded it could only be sex.
So she had waited patiently for Jaskirat to get over his strange obsession with Baloch’s boy, and with every passing week that it didn’t happen, her confusion grew stronger.
But Yalina knew better than to question Jaskirat’s decisions aloud. Of course, it didn’t mean she couldn’t try to interrogate him.
“So,” Yalina said as soon as Jaskirat emerged out of the shower. He had just arrived from the airport fresh from New York City. If the pattern established in the last two months held true, he would finish changing and leave to see his curly-haired boy.
Jaskirat let his towel drop and opened the wardrobe. “Yes, Yalina?”
She took a moment to admire his physique, musing whether or not her attachment to Jaskirat would have been less sisterly if she were any younger than she was.
“For how much longer are we going to be based in England?” Yalina’s tone was carefully casual. “We’ve barely left England for two months.”
At her question, Jaskirat’s hands paused. Pale eyes scrutinized her.
She refused to be intimidated. She was a former KGB agent. She wasn’t easily intimidated.
Pressing his lips together, Jaskirat pulled on a pair of trousers. “Actually, I want you to start looking for a large building in London. Good, secure location is the priority. The price doesn’t matter.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “You mean…”
“Yes,” Jaskirat said. “I’m moving the main office from Geneva to London.”
Yalina could only stare at him in silence. Moving the headquarters from a tax haven like Switzerland to the UK wasn’t the most practical decision. To put it mildly.
She opened her mouth and closed it without saying a word.
Jaskirat let out a sigh. “You have two minutes to voice your objections,” he said, shrugging into a fresh shirt and starting to button it up.
“As your employee, it’s not my place to object,” Yalina said before letting a slow grin stretch her lips. “But as your old friend, let’s just say I never thought I’d see the day you’d let some baby-faced English kid plait ropes out of you. Smitten is a good look on you.”
Jaskirat levelled her with a withering look.
Yalina held his gaze, her lips twitching.
Grabbing his keys, he said, “Focus on doing your job, Yalina.”
She watched him leave, smiling faintly. She had no idea how Baloch’s kid had accomplished that, but she was glad. Jaskirat worked too much. Yalina was the same way, but there was one significant difference between her and Jaskirat: she always had a home to return to; Jaskirat didn’t.
Perhaps that was about to change.
------------
Jaskirat left his hotel, his muscles tense and his head throbbing with the beginning of a headache. It had been a long flight, and the conversation with Yalina hadn’t exactly been relaxing. He barely waited for his bodyguards to get in the back of his car before slamming on the gas, the tires screeching.
By the time he parked the car and headed toward Uzair’s penthouse, Jaskirat was in such a foul mood even his bodyguards kept a careful distance behind him.
“Wait here,” he said before using his key card and stepping into the private lift.
At last, the doors slid open and he stepped out into the empty living room.
A delicious smell was coming from the kitchen. Jaskirat headed there, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet.
He leaned against the kitchen doorway, feeling the tension in his muscles dissipate.
Uzair was singing softly as he stood by the stove, stirring the sauce in the pot. He was wearing a pair of denim shorts and a bright Hawaiian shirt, his raven curls pushed back with a flowery headscarf. A set of large headphones was perched on his curly head, Uzair’s hips swaying a little as he hummed some song. He looked very young, very endearing, and very ridiculous—not exactly a combination Jaskirat normally found attractive.
He couldn’t look away.
Silently, he walked over, pushed the curls aside and pressed his lips to Uzair’s nape.
Uzair stiffened for a moment before relaxing and leaning back against Jaskirat’s chest. “You’re early,” he said, taking his headphones off. He tried to turn around, but Jaskirat didn’t let him, his hands gripping Uzair’s hips and holding him in place while he sucked bruises into his flawless skin, inhaling his sweet scent greedily and feeling his headache recede.
“How—how did it go?” Uzair said. “The meeting, I mean?”
“As well as expected,” Jaskirat replied, trailing his lips up Uzair’s neck, to his cheek. “Canberra is satisfied with the new partner I introduced him to.”
Uzair leaned into the touch, his full lips parting. He seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open. “Did you make it clear he knows Baloch Industries won’t be making deals with the likes of him any longer?”
“Yes,” Jaskirat said curtly before tugging the collar of Uzair’s shirt aside and sucking a mark into the creamy skin of his shoulder.
Uzair squirmed. “Stop that,” he said hoarsely with a smile. “I have to finish making dinner and I can’t do it when you’re all over me. Go sit over there.” He pushed Jaskirat toward the chair.
Jaskirat did sit down, albeit reluctantly. Leaning back in his chair, he glanced at the steamer and raised an incredulous brow. “Are you cooking manti?”
A pink flush coloured Uzair’s cheeks. He shrugged nonchalantly, returning to stirring the sauce. “I guess I developed a bit of a taste for it while I was in Russia. It’s not a hard dish to make. I got bored today and decided to try my hand at it.” He shrugged again.
He was a terrible liar.
Jaskirat’s lips twitched.
Uzair shot him a sideways look. “Shut up,” he said, his right dimple making an appearance as an embarrassed smile curled his lips. He must have been aware how pathetically lovesick his behaviour was.
Jaskirat didn’t comment on it. Just as he never commented on how Uzair looked at him, curled into him, and gave him his lips to kiss at every opportunity.
A better man would have nipped this in the bud and told Uzair to turn his affections elsewhere, to someone who was worthy of them. But even the thought of some other man touching Uzair’s skin, kissing his plump, sweet lips, and fucking that nice little body made Jaskirat’s hands clench into fists.
He wasn’t a better man. Because no matter how pathetically obvious the boy’s feelings were, Jaskirat found himself wanting moremoremore, ruthlessly greedy, taking every bit of Uzair’s affections and unwilling to give it up.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Uzair said, setting a delicious smelling plate of food in front of Jaskirat and turning away to fill his own plate.
Jaskirat reached out, took his wrist and pulled him into his lap.
Uzair giggled. “No, let’s eat first,” he said. Contrary to his words, his arms looped around Jaskirat’s neck. “You know we won’t get any eating done if we start. I’m hungry. You must be hungry too.”
He was. He always was.
“Canberra was the last,” Jaskirat said.
It took Uzair a few moments to understand what it meant. “Oh,” he said, his face falling.
Fucking hell. Did the boy not understand how dangerous it was to wear one’s heart on one’s sleeve?
“Yes,” Jaskirat said. “Everything has been taken care off. There will be no more threats.”
Uzair curled his hands in his own lap. “So…Are you, like, leaving?” he said, his expression open and vulnerable.
Jesus fucking Christ. What the hell was this human being doing in Jaskirat’s lap, looking at him that way?
I never thought I’d see a day you’d let some baby-faced English kid plait ropes out of you.
Yalina’s words that Uzair had him wrapped around his little finger had put him on edge—because she wasn’t wrong. Denying it was pointless. It was hard to deny it when Uzair was the sole reason Jaskirat was relocating his headquarters to a different country. He understood why Yalina was so surprised: a part of him still couldn’t believe he was doing it, either. And that was only one of the many compromises he would have to make.
Looking at the boy’s earnest, anxious face, Jaskirat couldn’t bring himself to care.
He lifted a hand and tucked a stray curl behind Uzair’s ear. “How are your therapy sessions going? Any luck getting cured of me?”
Leaning into his hand like a touch-starved kitten, Uzair glared at him. “Stop making fun of me.”
“I’m not making fun of you,” Jaskirat said, holding his gaze. “This is a serious question.”
Uzair dropped his eyes for a moment before looking back at him with a humourless smile. “I think the answer is pretty obvious, yeah?” He wet his lips with his tongue. “Looks like I have a chronic, incurable form.”
Trying to ignore the disgustingly warm feeling in the region of his heart, Jaskirat cleared his throat and said, “You’re an idiot.”
Uzair nodded, the corners of his lips turning down. His eyes suspiciously shiny, he blinked a few times before burying his face in Jaskirat’s chest. “I feel so stupid,” he whispered. “I never meant for this to happen. Not with you. Even before you, I always got hung up on guys who were all wrong for me. You’re, like, the worst of them all, but I never had it this bad.” His voice cracked. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”
If Jaskirat were a better man, he would assure Uzair there was nothing wrong with him and that he had plenty of time to meet a good man who would deserve him.
But, as far as he was concerned, there wasn’t a man good enough to lick this precious boy’s boots. The world was full of selfish assholes like him. At least Jaskirat was an asshole who could protect him and take care of him.
“You asked me if I was leaving,” Jaskirat said, burying his fingers in Uzair’s curls. He could never resist them. “Do you want me to stick around?”
Uzair lifted his head and looked at him with a frown. “Does it matter what I want?” There was confusion and incredulity in his tone, and Jaskirat got the sudden urge to kill every single man who was to blame.
“You’re asking the wrong question,” Jaskirat said, his voice clipped and rough as he peered into Uzair’s eyes. “You should be asking yourself whether you want it or not. You and I both know I’m not a nice man. A man like me has no business with someone like you. If you’re smart, you’ll tell me to get out of your life, Curly.” Chuckling, he brushed Uzair’s temple with his thumb. “Do it now while you still can. Because once you’re mine, you’re mine.” He inhaled and exhaled slowly. “I already think of you as mine, but I think—I think I can still stop and leave you alone.” Maybe. “But if you choose to be mine, that’s it. Even if your perfect nice man ever shows up, you won’t stop being mine.” I’ll fucking kill him, and it’s not an exaggeration. “So think carefully. It’s your call, not mine.”
Uzair’s eyes were wide, full of bewilderment, disbelief, and something very bright and warm.
At last, a slow smile stretched his lips. “I would say I want to be yours,” he said. “But I’m already yours.”
Jaskirat didn’t know whether to laugh or curse.
“You’re an idiot,” he said again, cradling the boy’s heart-shaped face in his hands.
“Maybe, but I don’t care,” Uzair said, turning his face to kiss Jaskirat’s palm. “I want to be happy. You make me happy.”
Fuck dinner. Dinner could wait.
“I will.” Jaskirat pressed his lips against Uzair’s, stood up, and carried him toward the bedroom.
He had a boy to make happy
tags - @savagedrama @aan-4-u @harrystyleskiwi9 @notasamrat @darkdemonriddle666 @lakshana-ke-lakshan @isshaaobbsessedwithbl @ch1ldofthelordannie @aneshb25 @immortalconfluxmuse @hamzair-is-my-otp @gulaabjamun08 @moonligh-t @chickenpilot @manniexo @jadekiddo@hamzakamehroomkurta @sanpiece
THANKYOU FOR READING!!!!
the second-last part teeheeeee